Isla feels the shock in her body, the heat of it in her skin. ‘So he was infatuated with her and he kept her watch. So what?’

‘He’s lying, Isla. He’s hiding something.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I can tell when he’s lying. He’s on edge. He’s drinking more. Something’s eating at him.’

‘What are you saying?’ Isla shouts it, to hide her fear. ‘Are you saying Dad killed her?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘But that’s what you think?’

‘I do think it’s possible. Yes.’

Isla turns to face her mother. They are feet apart and the room feels small, the air stifling. ‘Do you want to know what I think?’

‘Sure.’ She wraps the watch around her fingers.

‘I think you’d like to see him arrested.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘He had an affair with your friend.’

Louisa puts a hand through her hair and holds her arm there, elbow jutting sideways. She shuts her eyes.

‘She was your friend, wasn’t she?’

Louisa nods. ‘I thought so.’

‘You’re taking it out on him, but they both hurt you.’

‘That’s not what this is about.’

‘When did you find out they’d had an affair?’

‘Will you stop saying that?’ She is red in the face, her body tense.

‘Is that why you left him? Did you take all the savings and go to England because you found out –?’

‘No!’ She screams it. ‘No. I started to suspect it when we got home from England. I think it must have started while we were away.’

Isla steps back. She has always feared her mum’s temper. They have learned over the years to tread carefully around each other, to avoid clashing.

‘You must have been angry with her,’ Isla says.

Louisa’s eyes drop to the ground, where the ironing has fallen from the chair.

‘When did you last see Mandy?’

Louisa raises her head. ‘I haven’t seen her in thirty years.’

‘When exactly?’

‘Before you and I went to England.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’ Her mum stares levelly back at her. A bird calls out from the yard, a familiar cry.

Louisa turns and puts the watch back in the drawer. Her shoulder blades jut out as she lifts out socks and replaces them, pushes the drawer shut when she’s done. ‘Don’t mention this to your father,’ she says. She keeps her back to Isla, watching the rain against the window.

24

Sydney, 1967

‘When are you expecting Steve back?’

Joe stood in Mandy’s kitchen drinking coffee, dressed in his creased shirt and suit pants. The sun was only just up. No colour in the backyard yet. Mandy knew he’d leave soon. She wished he’d get on with it. At the same time, she had to admit, she wished he’d stay.

‘He went out to Ivanhoe,’ she said. ‘Takes the best part of a day to drive it.’

Joe cut short a yawn. ‘He could be back any time, then.’

‘Relax.’ She poured her own coffee and gave it a stir. ‘He’ll be back tomorrow at the earliest.’